


Between The Years

by myangelshunter (Beccarez)



Series: Marked [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Explosives, Family, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5852308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beccarez/pseuds/myangelshunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These chapters will be a series of Time Stamps for my two previous works of my Marked Series. I strongly encourage you to read those two before reading these. Please check the tags and notes before every chapter. These will not run in any order and will vary in context from chapter to chapter. I would also like to thank my lovely beta, Kimmy (aka myhuntersangel) and Rachel (aka enochiansubtext) for their wonderful help and support <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been five years since Castiel's family was murdered. He's had five years to grief for them, five years of hunting with Balthazar, the man who rescued him. But it still wasn't enough.
> 
> A/N:  
> ((In case anyone is wondering, yes, this happens the day before Castiel is trapped by a Djinn.))
> 
> So, I want to do something different with these time stamps. I want YOUR vote for what happens next. I only have three (maybe 5 max) set chapters that I'll post. As my readers, I am making these chapters for your specifically to fill in any gaps that I know occurred throughout A Comet's Mark and A Torn Mark. So if you're curious about an aspect of the story, or found yourself wondering how/when something happened, leave me a comment and I'll write up that chapter for you =) I don't intend for these chapters to be very long, or this segment to be a whole other fic. It's just a little something while I iron out the majority of the last installment ^~^ Many thanks to you, of course, my beloved readers for joining me once again on this roller-coaster ride of a story!

Something shoved his shoulder, and Castiel sat up suddenly with a jolt. His too-long-teenage legs knocked into the low-dashboard, sending a sharp throb through his knees and up his thighs. Castiel hissed at the pain as he glared at Balthazar in the passenger seat. Sleep was still thick in his mouth, and light from the sudden sunrise was striking his vision through the window at his side.

“Why did you wake me so early?” Castiel grumbled, his voice pitching awkwardly. He hated being a teenager. He was too thin and too tall, and his voice couldn’t decide if it wanted to be deep and gravelly, or some other odd pitch. Castiel rubbed the sleep dust from his eyes with a yawn.

Balthazar was oddly quiet in his seat behind the wheel of the stolen 1986 Mustang. Castiel blinked a few times, glancing from his mentor to their surrounding area. As far as Castiel could tell, they were on the side of a road. There was nothing but green grass in front of them, and gray asphalt road alongside them. But when Castiel turned to look out the back window his throat closed painfully.

Anger surged up in his chest along with an age-old pain in his arms. He sat back down roughly, nearly slamming his back into the leather upholstery. Balthazar took a long breath, reaching into his jacket pocket for a cigarette. Castiel sat in the silence as his mentor flicked the lighter and inhaled the first drag. Smoke filled the cabin, and Castiel took it in gladly. The scent burned his nose and down his throat. It was nothing compared to the feeling in his chest.

The cemetery was behind them. It was where his family was buried. It was where the creatures that killed them were born.

“You’re older now.” Balthazar said with a slow exhale.

Castiel clenched his jaw and his fists dug into his knees. He glared at the older man, but he knew his eyes were red-rimmed. They were burning. Just like his nose and his chest.

“I don’t want to be here.” Castiel stated clearly, nearly gritting the words out on his teeth.

“I know.” Balthazar admitted. “But you need to be here. You need to say goodbye, Cassy. I rushed you out of town after the incident to avoid the LEOS and press. It’s been a solid five years so everything should have cooled off by now.”

Castiel turned away from the burning cigarette and the gray smoke. He stared out the window where the sun was steadily rising. He glared at the rearview mirror that showed him the front entrance to the cemetery. The rod-iron fence somehow managed to look threatening and homey all in one. A welcome to visitors of lost loved ones, and a warden against trespassers. Castiel held back a snort at the thought.

He’d spent too many nights with Balthazar digging up graves in cemeteries just like this one. Cemeteries with ancient tombstones, rusted grates, dusty crypts and mausoleums full of death and cobwebs. He knew this one would be no different.

“I made peace when I left with you.” Castiel said.

“We both know that’s a load of hog-shit.” Balthazar chuckled, his words billowing out a puff of smoke.

“You didn’t drag me back to the place just for closure.” Castiel figured. He tore his eyes away from the mirror, barely giving Balthazar a glance out of the corner of his eye.

Balthazar rolled the cigarette between his fingers. He changed hands, flickering the ashes out between the tiny crack of his opened window. Castiel waited as Balthazar took another long drag and sighed it out slowly.

“There’s a case nearby.” Balthazar admitted. “But I only picked it up last night before we left the motel. You needed this pit stop. Regardless of the case.”

“We wouldn’t even be here if there wasn’t a case.” Castiel accused. “So what is it? You thought since we were in the area?”

“No.” Balthazar stated calmly. Castiel gritted his teeth again as Balthazar finally caught his gaze. The older man’s eyes were soft in a way that Castiel had never seen. The lines near the edges of his eyebrows and his cheeks were thick, showing the years of stress, the years of anger and hurt. Balthazar took another drag, still holding Castiel’s gaze, and some of the anger drained from his chest. This wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a silly prank, or some twisted half-thought-out idea.

“I’m the only one who knows what truly happened to you, and your family.” Balthazar spoke quietly in the early morning sunlight. Smoke billowed in front of his face. Castiel was still tense in his seat, trying not to look at the rear view mirror outside the passenger window again. “And you’ve never once said anything about it to me. You don’t talk about your mother, not your father, not even your sister. We’ve been on the road for five years. I’ve taught you almost everything I know. You have seen horrors people don’t even dare to dream. I want you to have this one bit of peace, Cassy. I don’t want their ghosts to haunt you anymore.”

Castiel rolled his fist against his knee. His heart was hammering in his chest, fueling the angry fire behind his ribs. Balthazar was right though, and Castiel knew it. He knew if he held onto this anger any longer, they would start to haunt him. Castiel unclenched his fist, brushing his sweaty palm against his torn jeans. He took a long breath before kicking open his door.

“Keep the car running.” Castiel grunted. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time Cassy,” Balthazar called as Castiel stepped out into the cool morning. “The case can wait a few hours.”

Castiel slammed the car door behind him. The sound of gravel crunching loudly beneath his boots as he stomped towards the cemetery was a comfort. The cool morning air seemed like ice compared to the lingering warmth of smoke from the car. Castiel pulled his dark flannel shirt around him tighter, wishing he at least had his leather jacket. But that was tucked away in his duffle bag in the trunk of the Mustang, and Castiel was already half way to the cemetery with his long, angry paces.

Part of him tried to act like this was just a case. Part of him wanted to cross the threshold of the cemetery and pretend that he wasn’t here as a visiting, grieving relative. Part of him wanted to be hardened and distant from this, just like he was whenever Balthazar needed help digging up a grave at night. But he couldn’t. As soon as Castiel crossed under the rod-iron gate, the weight of reality sunk onto his shoulders. He kept his arms crossed tight across his chest as he walked, keeping the shirt pulled tight around him.

This was such a stupid idea. Balthazar always had stupid ideas like this. Castiel could just sit here, staring out over the patches of green, and the gray headstones that marked each plot. He didn’t have to move any further. A quick glance over his shoulder told Castiel he was far out of the Mustang’s line of sight. Balthazar would never know if Castiel actually visited his family’s graves.

Castiel let out a soft breath as the thought came and went. He would know. And he wouldn’t be able to let it go that he just stood in a cemetery rather than see his family one last time.

So, he stomped on, strolling past other newer graves. Every cemetery was the same, and yet every cemetery was different. It didn’t take Castiel long to work out where the county would have buried his family. He knew they would all be together. He remembered that his family had plots out here. He knew the area that his parents would visit periodically through the years.

Even though he knew exactly what he would find, and exactly what it would look like, the sight still hit him hard. It felt like someone knocked the air out of his chest with a metal bat when Castiel’s eyes fell on their headstones. His chest tightened as the hot anger churned into warm grief and he collapsed onto the grass in front of them. They were here. Their names were carved into the dark gray stone, and suddenly it all felt so much more permanent.

 

**_In Loving Memory:_ **

**_James Novak ~~ 1954-1989_ **

**_Daphne Novak ~~ 1958-1989_ **

**_Anna Novak ~~ 1974-1989_ **

 

Castiel tried to ignore the burn in his eyes. He wasn’t blinking as he read their names over and over again.

Jimmy Novak, his devoted father, both to his faith as a Christian, and to his family. Castiel could still remember his voice whenever he said grace before every single meal. They never ate until Father said grace, and each time it was a little different, but they always started the same.

“Thank you Lord, for blessed are we to have this bountiful table before us today…” They would always link hands around the small wooden table in the dining room for grace. Anna would always try to sneak a roll before Father started the prayer. And he would always chide her gently that she hadn’t said her thanks yet. Castiel remembered always feeling thankful for dinner. It was the biggest meal of their day, the only time throughout their crazy days that they could all sit together.

He remembered his mother’s cooking too. He remembered standing on a chair by the stove, handing her seasonings for the chicken, or pepper for the pasta sauce. He remembered that she always let him taste-test everything before they got the plates to serve dinner.

And he remembered sitting at that table, glad to say grace with his father. Because he was thankful. Back then, he was so thankful. But now, Castiel heard his father’s prayer of thanks and it was like the cries of a banshee in his ears.

Castiel swallowed the hard lump in his throat as he shook his head. “You were wrong…” he whispered to the carved name. “We weren’t blessed…”

His eyes swept over his mother’s name and Castiel had to take a shaky breath. He wanted to remember his mother better than the memory that came to his mind. He wanted to remember her smile, the way she cooked, the way she smelled or laughed. Castiel wanted to remember the good things; how she worked a full job but somehow always had time to pick him and Anna up from school. How she sometimes hummed when she cooked, or sang if Castiel couldn’t sleep at night.

But all Castiel could see when he thought of his mother was the monster. All he could see was the bloodlust in her empty eyes when the monster caught hold of his arm. All he could see was the twisted grin when the monster strapped him to their kitchen table. All he could feel was the bite of the carving knife…

Castiel pulled his shirt around his torso tightly as a sob wrecked through his body. He knew that the monster wasn’t her. He knew that. But it had worn her face, it had used her voice to call him back, it had used her hands to tie him down, to make him bleed. He couldn’t remember her. He was starting to forget her, and it made his stomach churn in disgust.

The burn in his eyes grew as he opened them, reading the very last name on the tombstone.

“Anna I’m sorry.” Castiel choked on the words.

Anna he could never forget. Anna was the bright red hair and emerald green eyes. Anna was the laughter throughout the day. She was the soft punch to his shoulder when Castiel said something silly and the tug on his arm when he wanted to read a book instead of helping her in the garden. Anna was the encouragement when Castiel doubted. Anna was the mischief when Castiel obeyed.

And it was Anna who protected him from the monsters. It was Anna that slammed the door shut when they tried to get into the house. She was the one who shoved Castiel into the kitchen, telling him to run out the back, yelling at him to run and get help.

Castiel could remember the panic in her face, the tremble in her voice as she yelled at him. He couldn’t forget how she’d shoved him away just as the front door shattered open. He couldn’t forget how she didn’t run away with him, but ran towards the monsters instead, drawing them upstairs so they wouldn’t go after him.

“I shouldn’t…” Castiel swallowed thickly as his voice cracked. He knelt in front of his sister’s grave, hands clenched tightly in his shirt. He took as deep a breath as he could, but the air rattled in his chest. “I should have grabbed you.” Castiel whispered softly. “We were both there. I….I should have said no. I should have taken you with me. We…we were right there. We could have escaped together.”

But they didn’t. Anna had run back out of the kitchen. Castiel had hesitated at the back door, torn between screaming for Anna to come back, and wanting to flee across the backyard. It was that hesitation that let the monster see him. It was that moment that changed everything.

Castiel glanced over at his mother’s name again. “I’m sorry Mother.” He whispered. “I’m sorry that I can’t see your face anymore…without thinking of that monster. You…you deserve better than that from me.”

Castiel pulled a hand from the warmth of his shirt. His fingers trembled as he reached forward, pressing his palm against the dewy grass. He wished that made him feel better. He wished that being closer to them would bring back the warmth and safety he remembered from his childhood. He wished, more than anything, that he had gone with them.

“I hope you were right about Heaven,” Castiel spoke to his father’s name, trying to keep the angry bite from his voice. “I hope you’re all there together. You were wrong about everything else. This world is…”

The lump was back in his throat, and Castiel actually laughed, cold and bitter as he tore his gaze away. He stared up at the lightening sky, refusing to let the burn overwhelm his eyes. He blinked once, twice, then shook his head before looking back down at his father.

“This world is Hell.” He said. “Those monsters that took you…they were just the first circle. Yes, I know, you never approved of Dante. I had to read it anyway. It was for a hunt….” Castiel shook his head dismissively. “That’s not the point. The point is…”

But what was the point? Castiel bit his tongue for a moment, hoping that little bit of pain would ease the burning ache in his chest. It didn’t. Castiel’s hand clenched in the grass beneath his knees.

“Balthazar helped.” Castiel whispered while he stared at his father’s headstone. “I know his name is strange, but he’s a good man. He saved me from those monsters.” Castiel took a small breath, feeling his voice start to shake as he glanced over to his sister’s stone. “Anna, I wish he could have saved you too. You would like him.” Castiel smiled at the thought of his teenage sister meeting the sarcastic and cynical hunter.

He thought of his sister trying to fight off a ghost with an iron-rod in her hand, and nearly hitting Balthazar during the scramble. He could practically hear Balthazar yelling in defense, and Anna merely snapping back that he shouldn’t sneak up on her when they’re working a case. Castiel chuckled sadly, the lump growing thicker in his throat despite the tender smile on his face.

“Yea.” Castiel agreed with a soft nod. “You really would have liked him Anna.” His gaze hovered over her name for a few more seconds before he stared back at his parents.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted for me.” Castiel muttered. “I know you wanted me to grow up like you. A devoted Christian, a straight-A-student, maybe valedictorian, go to college, get a white-collar job…” Castiel trailed off slowly as he shook his head. “But I couldn’t do that Dad. Not after what happened to you and Mom. Not knowing that there are…things out in the world that could do these horrible things to people.”

The burn was back in his eyes but Castiel fought it tooth and nail. He rolled his lips gently, shaking his head as his body continued to shake. His arms pulsed with the dull reminder of the two scars he bared from those monsters. The scars reminded him of the burn in his mark.

“Remember when I got my Mark?” Castiel whispered quietly, afraid that his voice would crack again if he spoke too loud. “I remember that you sat me down on your knee, we’d just finished eating dinner, I think. And you told me…you told me it was a mark from God.” Castiel chuckled harshly again as the deity’s name rolled of his tongue. “You told me it was a gift. A gift I would understand one day, but I was too young then. You said when I was older, everything would make sense. You said to have faith in God, because he would show me the right path.”

Castiel was forced to blink as his vision grew blurry. He growled his frustration into the sleeve of his shirt as he hurriedly cleaned his face. “I don’t know how you were so blind.” Castiel muttered roughly into the coarse cloth. “I can’t do that anymore Dad. I can’t have that blind faith like you. Not after what I’ve seen. Not after what I’ve done…” Castiel shook his head as he sat back on his haunches, leaning away from the graze.

“You were everything to me.” Castiel told the grave, wishing, more than anything that he could see them again. Part of him hoped their ghosts could haunt him, if only for a little bit, if only to tell them this. “Balthazar made sure those…those monsters paid for what they did to you. And even though this isn’t what you wanted, even though this probably isn’t part of Gods plan, or whatever you used to say…” Castiel waved his hand, pulling out a few strands of grass. “I won’t stop. I am going to follow Balthazar across this country, or across this world. I am going to make sure that any creature, any spirit, any kind of _thing_ like those are dead. I won’t let it happen again. No one deserves this pain. And no one deserved what happened to you.”

Slowly, with his body still shaking, and his ankles a little numb from kneeling, Castiel stood. It reminded him of days in church, kneeling in the pews for prayer. As Castiel regained his balance and looked down at the graves, it felt a little like giving his last confession.

Castiel nodded slowly as he took his steps away from the graves. Each step felt heavy, but he took them anyway, only turning away from his family at the last possible second. He kept his eyes on the old Ford Mustang instead as he crossed the cemetery without looking back.

When he sat down in the passenger seat, Balthazar didn’t say a word. For a few silent minutes, Castiel stared out the front window. He expected Balthazar to turn the key, to start the Mustang up and drive off into the sunrise. But after two more minutes they were still sitting in a slowly cooling car outside of a cemetery.

Balthazar reached into the backseat and pulled out a file, tossing it into Castiel’s lap. “You sure you’re up for this?” Balthazar wondered.

Castiel didn’t say anything. He merely opened the file and started reading up on the case Balthazar pulled out yesterday. Teens between the ages of sixteen and nineteen were going missing.

The first was a seventeen-year-old named Carson Kinton, who apparently went out to a party and never came home one weekend.

The second was a nineteen-year-old, Veronica Hilley, who was reported missing just two days ago, last seen at her job at a club.

And the last known victim was sixteen-year-old Amelia Johnson, who never made it to school early in the morning.

“They’re all around my age.” Castiel muttered, his voice deep with his emotions and the thoughts running through his head. “I’m playing bait?” He asked, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes.

“No,” Balthazar said, shaking his head gently. “This case is all yours. I knew you would want some work after…that.” He explained. Balthazar reached into his jacket and pulled out the box of cigarettes, offering one to him.

Castiel stared at the bent box and the remaining five cigarettes. Usually, Balthazar didn’t smoke. It was something that Castiel had come to understand as a stress-relief, something Balthazar indulged in after big hunts. Even at that, it happened often enough that Castiel was used to the smell of smoke on his clothes and inside the car. It was never something he actively looked for, but after that, Castiel snatched at the cigarette in Balthazar’s hand.

“Let’s go.” Castiel muttered, reaching into his own pocket for his lighter as Balthazar started the car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy is hardly a month old, Dean has just turned four, and Mary desperately wants to introduce her boys to their Godparents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda took some liberties here, although the whole series is an AU but... semantics. I've always had a personal headcanon that Mary would have been great friends with Bobby and Ellen. And I feel like this kinda explains how Bobby ended up adopting Dean and Sam ^~^

_**June 15 th, 1983** _

 

“You sure this is the right place?” John asked, glancing out the window of the Impala skeptically. “This place looks like a junkyard.”

Mary hummed in agreement as she looked up at the house in front of them. Bobby Singer. She held back a sad smile, remembering the last time she’d been to this place. It had been just before she and John got married. She’d personally delivered the invitation, needing the few days away from her house while John was working a triple-shift over a long weekend. She’d come here seeking solace and peace. It wasn’t lost on Mary that she was here again for the very same reason, almost ten years later.

“This is the place.” Mary said. She tore her eyes away from the house to look over her shoulder at the back seat. Nestled together in the middle of the long bench seat were her boys. Sammy, just a little over a month old, was tucked safely in his car seat, which Dean was resting against, one arm draped over the carrier. Mary smiled fondly. She was glad they fell asleep for most of the ride. Part of her had worried that Sam would fuss the whole time. But then again, Sammy hardly fussed so long as she, or Dean, was in his sights.

“Should we wake ‘em?” John wondered, his voice gruff in his quiet whisper. Mary looked up to find that her husband was staring lovingly at their children. She reached a hand across the seat, letting her fingers trail up his shoulder, letting the warmth of that one touch soothe down her arm. John took her hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss on her wrist, very close to the mark on her skin.

Mary was glad for it. She was glad for the comfort her husband gave without truly knowing that she was worried. “Bobby’s got a spare room.” Mary whispered. “I’m sure we can get the boys inside without a fuss.” At least, she hoped so. Sometimes, taking a drive around the block was the only way to settle Dean after a long day at preschool.

“I’ll get the car seat,” John offered with a nod. “You get Dean.”

That was almost a bad idea, because as soon as Mary pulled Dean away from the carrier, he jolted in his sleep. Mary was quick to pull him close, lest he wake Sammy as well. Luckily, as soon as Dean was nestled against her shoulder, he was back asleep. Mary smiled as John finally wiggled the baby carrier gently out of the car, and she tried to shut the car door as quiet as possible. She led the way up to the front porch, cringing every time the floorboard creaked beneath her boots.

She could hear John chuckling behind her, and Mary fought down a giggle. She reached forward with her one free hand, knocking on the door as rough and quiet as possible. She rubbed Dean’s back soothingly when he started to fuss, and took a step back when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

“Yea?” Came the rough half-yell through the wooden door.

Mary winced as she shared a worried glance with John. “Bobby?” Mary called, hardly more than a loud whisper. “It’s Mary. Please don’t shout, the boys are sleeping.” Mary added quickly.

There was a long minute of silence, and for a minute, Mary was half afraid Bobby was going for the 12-gauge. She closed her eyes in a silent prayer to whatever was listening that Bobby wouldn’t make her drink holy water or touch anything silver. Midway through her prayer, Mary heard the chains on a lock moving, then the click of a dead-bolt, and three other locks slide open. The door pinched a crack, letting in the bright summer afternoon sunshine. It took a second for Mary’s eyes to readjust to the lighting in the house, but she could just make out Bobby’s face in the crack.

His eyes were worried as he took in Mary’s sharp gaze. He followed her eyes to Dean in her arms, and then John next to her shoulder. The subtle nod was hardly noticeable because Bobby was pulling the door open with a big grin on his face.

“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore-eyes!” Bobby sighed, only remembering at the last second to keep his voice down. He pushed open the screen door, which John took in his free hand, and stepped back to let Mary walk into the house. “Make yourself at home. The living room’s just through there. You can set the little guy down.”

Mary tossed a smile over her shoulder in a silent chide as she navigated her way effortlessly through the house. It may have been nearly a decade since she walked through the hallways, but she could never forget them. That was one of her more hidden talents. Once Mary had been to a place, a house, a town, a city, she knew her way around like she’d lived there all her life. Some things from the life never left her.

She wasn’t surprised by the amount of books that had accumulated around Bobby’s living room. Although, once Dean was resting, sound asleep on the couch, she quickly hid a few under the sofa. Luckily, Bobby had lead John right into the kitchen. Mary turned to make sure Dean was fine before walking across the room and sliding the doors to the kitchen open, leaving them open just a crack behind her. That way, if Dean woke up he would hear them all talking just beyond the doors.

John was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of ice tea in his hands. Bobby had cleared everything from the small table so that Sam could rest there, still snuggled down in his baby carrier none the wiser.

“So, John, this is Bobby Singer, an old friend of the family.” Mary explained. “And Bobby, this is my husband, John.” She said standing at John’s side, pressing a hand to his shoulder like she had in the car. She smiled at him before glancing over at Bobby, who nodded his polite greeting.

“And the rugrat out there?” Bobby asked, with a pointed look at the living room.

“Dean.” Mary said, smiling at the understanding that crossed Bobby’s eyes. “And this is little Sammy.” She added, looking down at her sleeping newborn.

“Good names.” Bobby said.

“We named them after Mary’s parents.” John explained with two parts pride and one part grief. “They passed just before the wedding.”

“I heard.” Bobby said, sharing a brief glance with Mary. “I’m sorry about that.”

Mary put on a strong smile and she took a sip from John’s tea when he offered the glass to her. To her surprise, he stood from the chair.

“Mind if I use the restroom?” John asked. “Been on the road for a while.”

“Second door on your left.” Bobby said with a nod to the hallway.

Mary watched her husband leave with a tinge of relief on her face. She rubbed at her wrist careful to keep the tips of her finger on the edges of her mark. Silently she wondered if John could sense her worry, if he somehow knew she needed to have this moment with Bobby privately. Slowly, Mary eased herself back into her husband’s seat, staring at Sammy’s sleeping face as the silence grew in the kitchen.

“We don’t have long.” Bobby warned her.

“John’s gonna come back and we’re gonna ask you and Ellen to be their godparents.” Mary whispered, unable to take her gaze from her son. “But I need you to promise me something if you say yes.”

“Anythin’.” Bobby swore. “You’re family sweetheart. You know that.”

“Don’t raise my boys like I was.” Mary said, instantly feeling the dread that had plagued her since Sammy was born. She realized how rough that sounded and she took a quick breath before facing Bobby again. “If anything happens to me and John, don’t raise them in the life. I don’t want that for my boys. John doesn’t know.”

“Yea, I figured as much.” Bobby grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. He took a long breath as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. A few beats of silence passed, and Mary was suddenly struck by how much older Bobby seemed to her. There were wrinkles around his eyes and the edges of his hair were turning gray against his usual dark-brown color. The flannel shirt he was wearing today looked like he’d thrown it in the washer ten-thousand times, and his jeans were just as worn, stained with grease around his knees. The cap on his head even looked worn through war. Yet, Mary knew that Bobby wasn’t really that much older than her and John.

“Want me to call Ellen?” Bobby asked just as footsteps sounded near the kitchen doorway. “She’d loved to see you and the boys. Even got a little girl of her own.”

“Oh?” Mary asked, putting a smile on her face even as she choked down the guilt in her stomach. John was there in the doorway, but there was an ease to his face that Mary envied. She wished she had his ignorance more than she could ever say. She wished she could look at the world as plainly as he did. She wished that this could be exactly what John thought it was-visiting old friends with good news.

“Ellen’s coming around?” John wondered. “Haven’t seen her since the wedding! She still running that old Saloon her match was going on about?”

“Yea.” Bobby said with a nod. “Lost her match though.”

John’s smile diminished instantly as he stood just a few paces away from Mary. She couldn’t help but notice his fist clenched. He always did that when he was upset, or if he was worried about her. She knew why of course. Their mark rested on their wrists, and the clench of his fist would flex his veins, making the mark pulse warmly, reminding him that Mary was safe. Even so, she reached her hand out to his fist, making him loosen his grip to take her hand instead.

“When did it happen?” John wondered, concern clear in his face as he stared between Bobby and Mary.

“Just last month.” Bobby explained. “Bar brawl, of all things. Someone was too drunk, getting too rough with Ellen, so—”

John took a deep breath and nodded his understanding. Mary was glad he didn’t say anything else. That was enough for John. He didn’t need details of a fake story. Mary shared a solemn glance with Bobby.

“We should get her something.” Mary suggested. “For her and the girl.”

“How long you folks plan on sticking around?” Bobby wondered. “We could always have a cookout. Been over-due for one anyhow.”

Mary smiled, squeezing John’s hand tightly. “I think that would be wonderful.”

“Is there somewhere in town we could stay?” John asked. “Hate to put you out. Sammy’s not sleeping through the nights just yet.”

“I got spare rooms,” Bobby offered with a pointed thumb at the doorway. “Ain’t no trouble. Wish ya’ll had called ahead. Coulda aired out the rooms ahead o’ time.”

Mary wrinkled her nose in a small wince. “I lost your number in the move.”

“Mom? Dad?” Dean’s voice was quiet, and there was just enough fear in his voice that Mary was suddenly on the edge of her seat. John turned in time to open the doors for Dean to come barreling into the room, hugging John’s legs tightly.

“Easy tiger, where’s the fire?” John chuckled, reaching down to pry Dean from his legs. He hardly hesitated to pick Dean up in his arms and rest him on his hip. “You sleep okay kiddo?”

Dean nodded but his eyes were wide as he pressed his head against John’s shoulder. He was probably confused. Mary knew it was jarring to wake up in a new house. But she eased back into her chair with the feeling of safety and home swirling in her chest as John rocked slowly with Dean in his arms.

Mary propped her head on her elbow as she rested against the kitchen counter. She snuck a glance at Bobby, who was chuckling at the sight of John swaying and humming where he stood. John, suddenly realizing the looks Mary and Bobby were giving him, merely rolled his eyes.

“He gets anxious from his naps sometimes.” John explained. “Led Zepplin usually knocks him right back out. Right buddy?” John asked, glancing down at Dean now. Mary smiled, because Dean was staring at Bobby with two parts wonder, and one part fear.

“Who are you?” Dean asked.

“That is Uncle Bobby.” Mary answered quietly. “Can you say hi?”

“Hi Uncle Bobby.” Dean mumbled, suddenly shy as Bobby waved lightly. “’M Dean.”

“Yea, your mom’s been telling me about ya.” Bobby chuckled. “Heard you’re a big brother now.”

Mary couldn’t help but laugh as Dean suddenly picked his head up from John’s shoulders. He searched the room frantically, relaxing instantly when he eyes fell on the car carrier beside Mary on the kitchen table. Dean’s shoulder’s fell, and he slumped back against John, his face full of content as John continued to rock.

“Attached to this one huh?” Bobby wondered, glancing between Dean and Sam with a raised eyebrow.

“You have no idea.” Mary chuckled. “He was so angry on his first day of preschool because Sam wasn’t going too. Although, he was fine leaving me behind.”

That made both men chuckle, and the laughter in the room made Dean smile, although Mary doubted he understood what was so funny. Mary brushed a strand of hair from her face as she took the last sip from John’s glass of ice tea.

“I should call Ellen.” Mary said.

Bobby nodded over Mary’s shoulder, and she turned to see the phone on the wall right beside her head. Next to it was a small notepad, just like they had in their house. A few numbers and names were scrawled on the pad, and it didn’t take long for Mary to find Ellen’s number.

As she was dialing the number, Mary leaned against the wall, watching as John continued to bounce with Dean in his arms. Their son was obviously more awake now, but still clinging to the collar of John’s shirt as he stared around the kitchen. Dean’s head turned to look back into the library, and Dean turned to Bobby with wide eyes.

“Are those your books?” Dean asked, pointing at the living room.

“Mmhm.” Bobby said with a small nod.

“You read all of ‘em?” Dean gasped, making Mary chuckle as she listened to the dial tone. “There’s like a jillion!”

John and Bobby both chuckled, but Mary was drawn from the kitchen conversation as she heard the line clicked in her ear.

_“Hello?”_

Mary smiled. “Ellen? It’s Mary.”

 _“Mary Winchester? What on Earth are you calling me for?”_ Ellen laughed in her disbelief, and Mary continued to smile.

“I’m at Bobby’s with the boys.” Mary explained quietly. “I was wondering if you had dinner plans tonight? Bobby’s offerin’ to barbeque.”

 _“That actually sounds swell.”_ Ellen sighed. _“I could use the night off. Tell Bobby to get the grill going. I’ll bring something to cook too. Oh and you’ve got the boys?”_

“Yea. Little Dean and Sammy.” Mary said, glancing up when John let Dean down. He scurried to the kitchen table, pulling himself up into the opposite chair so he could lean over Sam’s carrier.

John waved a hand, pointing over his shoulder where Bobby was already heading back towards the front door. Mary frowned until John mouthed the words ‘bags’ and she nodded gently. “Heard you got a little one on your hands too.” Mary said into the phone against the sounds of bottles clinking along the line.

 _“Yea, Joanna Beth. She’s a handful all right.”_ Ellen laughed. _“She’s gonna be four in the fall.”_

“Aww. I can’t wait to see you. Come by around four?” Mary asked.

 _“I can do that.”_ Ellen agreed. _“Call if you need me to bring up anything.”_

“I will. Bye Ellen.” Mary said before putting the phone back on the receiver.

“Who was that?” Dean asked. He was sitting on the chair closest to Sam now, sitting high on his knees so his elbows could lean on the table.

“Your Aunt Ellen.” Mary answered, sitting down across the table. Dean squinted at her in that adorable way he had when he didn’t quite understand something.

“Ellen and Bobby are matches?” Dean asked.

Mary couldn’t help the laugh. “No sweetie. They’re good friends though.”

“But… how is she my aunt?” Dean asked. “Rodney, at school, says that his aunt is his Momma’s sister. Is Ellen your sister?”

Mary ran her hand through Dean’s hair gently. “Bobby and Ellen are very, very dear friends of mine. Ellen is almost like my sister, and Bobby is almost like my brother. That’s why she’s your aunt, and Bobby is your uncle. Family isn’t always about having the same Mom and Dad. Family is about the people who love you, no matter what.”

Dean smiled shyly and he nodded slowly, turning into Mary’s hand as she rubbed his scalp. Dean glanced up suddenly and smiled down at the carrier. “Sammy’s up!”

Sure enough, Sam started fussing. Mary sighed quietly. “Honey, can you tell your father to get Sammy’s bag from the car first? They went right through that door.” She added, pointing out the kitchen door while she reached to unbuckle Sam from the carrier.

“Okay.” Dean said, hoping down quickly from his chair and practically running out of the house, calling out for his father as he went.

Alone in the kitchen, Mary held Sammy tight to her chest. It actually seemed to quiet him down, and Mary found it easier to smile. “You’re gonna be okay Sammy.” She promised. “You and Dean are going to be just fine. I promise.”

 

*****

 

Bobby never thought he would live to see the day that his house was filled with the sound of laughing and squealing rugrats. Yet here he was, sipping on the beer that John Winchester just opened him, while they stood in front of the grill on the porch of his house. Dean and Little Joanna were running around, playing a game of tag or something else crazy that involved them darting between the old cars like something was after them. Bobby kept one eye and ear out for them, knowing that Joanna was a fireball. The little tyke had a bad habit of climbing the cars whenever Ellen wasn’t outside watching her.

John was a good man. Bobby was starting to get how Mary and he were matches. John was a retired Marine who served in Vietnam. Even if he didn’t know about Mary’s past life, he could keep her safe from the normal evils in the world. He was a mechanic by trade, but a damn good cook if these ribs on the grill were anything to go by of his usual grub. Bobby knew, personally, that sometimes Mary couldn’t work a stove to save her life. John probably couldn’t hold his whiskey for shit but he was great with Dean and Joanna.

It was all so adorably mundane that Bobby was almost jealous of the man.

“Hey, you boys ain’t burning anything back there are ya?” Ellen called from the kitchen.

Bobby turned, tossing back a rough smirk around the neck of his beer. “Quit you’re worryin’.” Bobby called back after a small sip from his beer. “I think John’s got it handled.”

“UNCLE BOOOOOBBBBYYYY.” Dean’s sudden cry made the skin on the back of Bobby’ neck rise. He nearly slammed his beer down on the sidebar of the grill in his haste to get down the steps. The little rugrat was hobbling towards the porch with Jo’s arm over his shoulder, and one arm wrapped around her tiny waist, keeping her pressed to his side to help her walk.

It took Bobby a second to realize that Jo was clutching a bloody knee. The edges of her denim shorts were blotched black, her shirt was covered in dirt, and her tiny pony-tail had nearly fallen out. She’d definitely fallen off one of the cars again.

Ballsy little tyke.

Bobby sighed quietly in relief under his breath as he reached to pick Joanna up, sweeping her effortlessly into his arms. “She’ll be okay boy, you did good. Run inside now and tell your Ma to get the kit.”

Dean, wide-eyed and a little pale in the face, took one look at Jo before nodding and bolting up the front porch. John winced as Bobby walked up with Joanna in his arms.

“You’re a brave one aren’t ya?” John said, giving Jo a small smile as Bobby climbed the porch steps. 

“S’not so bad.” Joanna mumbled, but there was a small quiver in her voice when she tried to move her leg.

“Take it easy squirt.” Bobby grumbled while John held the door open for them. “Can you wiggle your toes?”

“Yea.” Jo answered quietly.

“Good. Nothin’s broken then.” Bobby explained softly as he walked through the kitchen and into the living room to set Joanna down on the couch.

Ellen walked around then with a washcloth in her hands. She gave Jo one look, a smirk on her face that Joanna tried to mimic. “Uh-huh, you were climbin’ the cars again weren’t ya?”

“It was my fault.” Dean’s small voice came from the doorway as Mary came around to hand Ellen the first aid kit.

“Dean Winchester did you push her?” Mary asked, her voice sharp despite the softness on her face.

“No!” Dean shouted, quickly shaking his head. “I said she couldn’t do it ‘cause Uncle Bobby told us not to…and then she climbed up anyway.” he explained, his fingers clutching at the edges of his t-shirt.

“Sounds about right.” Bobby chuckled as he turned to ruffle Dean’s hair lightly. “Ain’t your fault buddy. Accidents happen.”

That brought back some of the color to Dean’s face, and he even gave Bobby a tiny bashful smile before ducking away from his hands. Bobby crossed his arms over his chest then as he leaned against the kitchen doorway, turning his eyes back to Joanna.

“Which one were you on top of this time?” Bobby asked, trying to distract the little girl while Ellen reached for the alcohol swab.

“The big red truck.” Joanna said, a grin suddenly pulling at her lips as she giggled in triumph. “Shoulda seen Dean’s face. He was scared.” Joanna snickered.

“Was not!” Dean muttered, his hands dropping down to his sides, his fingers clutching into tiny fists. Jo stuck her tongue out just before Ellen passed the swab over her daughters cut. Then she whined and clutched at her leg, careful to keep out of her mother’s way while Ellen placed a band-aid over the cut.

“Dean was the smart one.” Ellen told her daughter. “He listened to his uncle, and if you know what’s good for you then you’d do the same thing Joanna Beth. If Bobby catches you two climbing the cars, then you’re not getting any desert.”

“And we bought pie.” Mary added, making sure to give Dean an equal look of warning.

“Yes Mom.” Joanna and Dean seemed to mumbled at the same time.

Bobby laughed quietly to himself as Joanna hopped down from the couch, punched Dean on the shoulder with a cry of “You’re it,” and then they were off to the races again.

“You’ve certainly got your hands full.” Mary chuckled once the kids were out of ear shot.

“That’s every day.” Ellen admitted with a tired sigh as she sat down on the couch. “I’m afraid of how bad it’s gonna be once she starts school.”

Mary smiled at that, but one look at Bobby and the smile disappeared. Bobby tried not to frown as Mary leaned forward to make sure that John was still out on the back porch, grilling their dinner. “I already told Bobby, but I wanted you to hear it from me too,” Mary said quietly, taking Ellen’s hand in her while she sat down on the couch.

Ellen tilted her head slowly, and Bobby let out a slow breath. “Mary, what’s wrong?”

“I want you to be their God Mother.” Mary said. She smiled for half a second as her eyes darted from Ellen to Bobby. “And Bobby’s already agreed to be their God Father. But there’s something else…”

“Mary, you’re starting to worry me.” Ellen warned, her voice hardening.

“If anything happens to me—” Mary tried to continue.

“What could possibly happen?” Ellen demanded.

“El.” Mary swallowed thickly, her eyes growing red as she clutched the woman’s hand. “Please, just…if anything happens to me, I don’t know if John will survive. If anything happens to us, you get my boys here where it’s safe. You raise them right. Not the way I was raised, not in the life. Promise me.”

Ellen turned sharply, glaring at Bobby with glassy eyes. Bobby couldn’t catch her gaze and he gave a tiny shrug of his shoulders. He knew better than to argue with Mary when she set her mind on something.

“Tell us what’s happened.” Ellen implored as she squeezed Mary’s hand. “Sweetie if you’re in trouble, let us help you. You know we can—”

“This is how you can help.” Mary promised with a tight smile and a cracked laugh as she held Ellen’s hand tightly. “You can take care of my boys can’t you? Dean already gets along so well with Joanna, and he adores you Bobby.” Mary added, turning glassy eyes up to him then.

“You know I will.” Bobby grumbled, watching John grill from the corner of his eye. The man was standing tall as he watched his son chase little Joanna around the yard, a spatula in one hand, and a cold beer in the other. Bobby took a deep breath and looked down at Mary. “But Ellen’s right. If you’re in trouble—”

“No, I’m not.” Mary said with a quick shake of her head and she flicked a tear away from her eye before it could get far. “But we know how things are. Just in case okay?”

“Fine.” Ellen finally said, tossing her hands up as Mary let her go. “But you’d better bring your family around for Thanksgiving.” Ellen demanded, pointing at the woman. “And maybe we can work something out for Christmas. If I’m their God Mother, they’re gonna know me more than just a few visits every four months.”

Bobby chuckled at the thought, leaving the girls to their planning. He walked back out to the porch and took up his beer again, taking a long drag even though it was starting to grow warm from the summer heat. John gave him a small nod as he opened the grill, letting Bobby have a look at their cooking dinner.

“Ya know, if you’re ever lookin’ for work,” Bobby started with Mary’s words still rambling about in his head. “I’m opening up a shop here in a few months. I know you’re a good mechanic.”

“Thanks Bobby,” John smiled, that wide and goofy one that newly-weds always got. “I really appreciate that. Maybe I’ll take you up on that. Dunno how Mary would feel to another move, but I’ll let you know.”

Bobby took another drink from his beer. That would have to do for now. John covered the grill again and set the spatula down, walking over to the porch railing to stare out into the junk-yard of a backyard that Bobby had. Dean was running past with a stick in one hand, while Joanna’s hand was clutched in his other hand. Bobby watched as Dean swung the stick like it was a sword at some imaginary creature before leading Joanna around a car. They were giggling and laughing and sweating in the setting summer sun and for now, that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, don't forget to leave a comment-request of an upcoming chapter if you're curious about something from the past two fics! And of course, thank you so much for reading =)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a God-Damn devil's trap spanning across the southern half of Wyoming. Naturally, they have to figure out what the hell the demons want, and what's so bad that it calls for a massive iron-train-track devil trap. Balthazar had a feeling when he woke up this morning that it was going to be one of those days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Maajtee, who wanted to know Balthazar and Benny's version of the big show-down in A Comet's Mark. So, obviously, the boys aren't going to make it out of this. You have been warned.

**August 2005**

 

Over the past twenty year that Balthazar had been hunting, he preferred to think that he had seen it all, maybe done it all too. He knew himself and didn’t try to hide who he was, and he liked to think that he knew Castiel as well—after all, he’d practically raised the kid. But this summer had started to prove Balthazar just how little he actually knew. First there were people going missing who mostly had the same tragic family death six months after their birth. Then people having crazy super-powers, then bad-ass powerful demons rising from the depths of Hell, and Castiel found his fucking match.

It was ridiculous. And the man was frowning in his sleep where he was half curled into the passenger seat of Singer old Camaro. Balthazar didn’t even think about snapping his hand out to smack Castiel hard in the chest.

Of course, Castiel jolted, and Balthazar easily twisted his hand from Castiel’s death grip. He hardly gave Castiel a few seconds to fully wake up since they were probably ten minutes out from the church.

“So, while you were completely comatose, Ellen called me,” Balthazar explained. “We’re going to Church! Hope you brought your best suit. Also apparently that vampire friend of yours actually showed up, and he’s clearing the path for us now. More demons than we expected but, we’re going in with the odds stacked against us as always. Oh and is there something you’d like to tell me before we ride off to our death?”

Balthazar knew the question came out harsh and clipped, but the pre-hunt jitters were pumping full force through his veins as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. He glanced from the road to Cassy for a few seconds, watching the man rub his face roughly and straighten in his seat.

“We’re not riding off to our death.” Castiel grumbled. “We’ve had worse odds.”

“Not knowingly.” Balthazar argued with a shake of his head. “I’m not joking Cassy, what the fuck happened to you? All week you were a constant reminder that we had to get back to Sioux Falls and how we had to help Dean and Sam with the demons. Yet as soon as we get there, it’s like you’d want nothing more than to finish the job and bail out of town. Usually that’s my bit!”

The blue-eyed bastard just turned to Balthazar with a tired frown on his face. “I didn’t hear a question in any of that.” Castiel murmured.

Damn bastard. “Why did you let Dean break the bond?” Balthazar sighed roughly. “Why the fuck would you put yourself through that again Cassy?”

Because damn Castiel. Damn him for doing this to himself again. Too many times Balthazar had to pick Castiel up from the floor, bloody, wounded, and unconscious. Each time it rattled Balthazar down to his core. This last time was no different, except that Castiel had a choice, and he chose to suffer.

“It wasn’t real the first time.” Castiel corrected him in the cold and calculating tone that Balthazar wanted to smack out of him. “And, it was what he wanted. He’s entitled to it. I’ve done nothing but turn his entire life, his family’s life completely on its head.”

“Well, that’s utter bull shit.” Balthazar swore. “Because the Old Coot was hunting long before that boy of yours could walk. They would have found out about hunting anyway. Especially since Azazel got his sulfur soaked claws into dear little Sam. That demon would have shown up on their doorstep without my help.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Castiel practically growled, as he always did when Balthazar told him a truth Castiel refused to believe. “You were possessed.”

“Not for all of it.” Balthazar sighed. “Point is—” He shouted when Castiel tried to get out another argument. “You didn’t wreck Dean’s life, or Sam’s life. You’ve done nothing but try to help. Like we always fucking do! Normally, yes, I would tell you to treat this like any other fucking case and don’t get attached.” Balthazar reasoned, following the Impala as it turned down a dim dirt road. “But…he’s your—”

“Don’t say it.” Castiel muttered. “Because by that logic, so was Amelia.”

“That was the djinn!” Balthazar argued. “It pulled her face from its pool of victims. This one is real. This one is right the fuck in front of you.” Balthazar tossed his hands up, letting them slam back down on the steering wheel.

Castiel wouldn’t look at him. He was just staring out the window where Dean was steering the Impala down the road at a steady 75mph.

Balthazar let out the breath he was holding in and nodded softly. “Okay, sure he can be a bit of a twat sometimes,” Balthazar said, and that managed to get an eye-roll out of his passenger. “But he’s still your match Cassy! And like the idiot you are, you’re letting him slip past you.”

“No.” Castiel murmured. “He’s not mine to own. Never was. No mark can change that, nor should it. He’s free to do what he wants.”

Balthazar let out a low groan, knowing that there was nothing else he could say to get through to Cassy at this point. How he raised this kid to be so damn self-sacrificing, Balthazar would never truly know. “How the hell did you turn out to be so damn righteous?” Balthazar groaned.

Castiel never had the chance to answer him. Dean slammed on the break in the Impala, and Balthazar had to jerk the Camaro away from rear-ending the damn thing.

 

 

\-----

 

 

They were talking around him. Balthazar had half an ear tuned into the conversation while his eyes pivoted from the windows of the church to the barred front door. His fingers moved quickly, reloading his shot gun practically by memory alone as a wall of black smoke hit the window at his right shoulder. Balthazar swore under his breath while double checking the salt line at the door. Good, Dean hadn’t completely fucked it up when he let Benny into the church.

The vampire was at his side, Balthazar knew that much. His southern twang was thick as he spoke to Dean behind them. Balthazar kept his eyes on the door and the windows, his fingers flexing around the barrel of his shot-gun. If he tried, Balthazar could hear the sounds of half a dozen fights rattling around the unstable church. He could hear the growling of Benny’s nest-mates, the other vampires running and fighting to deflect all the black smoke from the front door. There were even a few humans possessed that Balthazar knew were still lingering out there. They hadn’t cleared all of them on their way in from the cars.

“Good, if we’re going to move, we need to do it now.” That was Ellen, barking somewhere behind him as she always did.

Balthazar tilted his head just enough that he could watch the woman hurrying over to the back door, and Jo was a flurry of blonde hair just behind her. His attention was caught by the front door again as it shuddered like someone had thrown their whole weight against the wooden planks. He glanced down at the salt line at the edge of the door. Balthazar had a feeling that wasn’t going to hold for much longer. Someone had to stay here and make sure the demons didn’t break into the chapel.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “We’ll hold the fort here until you guys are cleared.” Balthazar called over his shoulder.

To Balthazar, it felt like the whole Church fell dead quiet. The sounds outside became a distant hum, like the angry rambling of bees around a disturbed hive. The air in the room felt charged, and Balthazar struggled to take in a steady breath. When he turned slowly, Balthazar let his shoulder’s fall, seeing that Castiel was staring straight at him with the exact same look as all those years ago when he rescued a poor boy from a monster.

That one look sent Balthazar reeling. He knew the myth. That his life could possibly flash before his eyes when he was on the brink of death. But he wasn’t sure if this was it. He was staring at Castiel though, and suddenly it was sixteen years ago.

 

_**There was a twelve-year old clutching at his arm, trembling while he begged Balthazar not to leave. Those blue eyes were so wide, tears wetting his face the tighter he clutched at Balthazar’s bloody sleeve.** _

 

_**That same face, those eyes darker, blood splattered across his cheek and temple as Balthazar stared up at him. A machete was clutched in Castiel’s hand as his chest heaved. The other shaking as he reached forward to help Balthazar stand. Castiel was fifteen. It was his first kill as a hunter, and he had saved Balthazar’s life.** _

 

_**Balthazar could see the stubborn tilt of Castiel’s chin, the defiance in his gaze, and suddenly he was just twenty-three. Balthazar was handing him his first shot while they hovered around a pool table, and Castiel tried to beat him at their game.** _

 

Balthazar took a small breath as he was slammed back into the present, and he saw Castiel for who he really was, a grown man, a hunter, a matched man in love, and still trying desperately to save everyone. His eyes were dark blue in the fading sunlight and wide as his chest rose and fell heavily. One hand was clenched into a tight fist at his side, while the other held his gun, and the duffle bag Sam handed him was slung over his good shoulder. But Balthazar knew his feet were frozen to the floor.

In that span of probably twenty seconds, Balthazar realized this was good bye. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against all those demons trying to barge their way through the door. He also knew that Castiel had to get out there with his match. Castiel had to stop whatever big bad these demons were trying to let loose. Castiel had to carry on without him.

Castiel’s shoulder rose and fell with his heavy breath. Balthazar had to break their gaze. He glanced at Dean with a tiny pull to his lips when Dean nodded stiffly and he looked back at Cassy. That was enough. Castiel would know what he meant. Cassy always knew with just a look.

They didn’t need words this time.

“Cas… we have to go.” Dean said, his voice trembled, but none of them said anything. Dean tugged at Castiel’s arm. Even if Castiel stumbled, barely taking his eyes of Balthazar, he left all the same with his match out the back door.

Balthazar felt the air rush out of his chest when the wooden door slammed shut. Balthazar staggered back against a broken pew, leaning heavily on the creaking wood. He took a deep breath, letting the burn of the air settle in his chest.

The door rattled behind him. Balthazar glared at it over his shoulder, standing again with another breath. He stepped around the broken seats, clutching his shotgun to his hip.

“My nest can keep ‘em back for a while.” Benny said when Balthazar stood at his shoulder.

Balthazar nodded softly, actually giving the vampire his attention for more than a passing second. It jarred Balthazar when he noticed how soft the man’s eyes were. The tenderness in Benny’s gaze spoke of understanding before he turned to face the window again. Distantly, Balthazar thought of Castiel mentioning this Benny knew Dean before he was turned, before he met Cassy.

 A chuckled rumbled in Balthazar’s throat. “You too?” Balthazar wondered quietly.

Benny’s chest heaved once. He spared a fleeting glance at the door where Cassy and Dean disappeared before turning his eyes to the front door. Balthazar barely caught the stiff nod the vampire gave him, causing the hunter to break out in a rough, empty laugh.

“We’re a sorry fucking lot.” Balthazar said as he slapped his thigh while the laughter racked his ribs. Once the laughter left him, Balthazar sighed and straightened his back to find Gordon shaking his head in disbelief. “Gordon you sick fuck, you should have gone with them out back!” Balthazar exclaimed with a wave of his hand at the window where the dark clouds were rolling in with a storm.

“What? And leave you all the glory?” Gordon asked, pumping his shot gun once, a crooked smile gracing his lips. “Not a chance.”

“We should brace the door.” Balthazar said as the front door shuddered again. “It’ll give us a little more time. Maybe we can come up with something clever. Benny, help me get this pew against the door.”

“Just step aside Chief.” Benny said, holding up his hands with a wave for Balthazar to move. Once he was out of the way, Benny merely lifted the wooden seat like it was a broken log. He lodged it against the front door as best he could, and for a while, it seemed to hold the door shut a bit tighter.

“Good. They left us one bag yea?” Balthazar wondered, his eyes darting around the floor until he spotted the canvas bag near the window. Balthazar kneeled next to it, ruffling through it quickly to take inventory. “Ha! Gordon, get working on your art.” Balthazar shouted, tossing him a can of spray paint that Dean had abandoned when Benny came knocking at the door.

While Gordon shook the can and sprayed a bright red devil’s trap two steps away from the door, Balthazar stepped over to the left-side window. “Can you see anything out that one?” Balthazar called to Benny, nodding at the opposite window.

“More demons now.” Benny said. “Mostly smoke. Can’t get a good look at my kin.”

“Oh that can’t be good.” Gordon commented as he moved to spray in another symbol of the devil’s trap on the floorboard.

Just outside his window, Balthazar could see the road that lead up to the chapel where they’d left their cars just before the start of the tracks. There were dark clouds in the sky, the sun was practically gone, and it was getting more difficult to make out the shapes fighting in the grass around them. Balthazar chewed his lip, quickly glancing around the chapel again.

“They need to break through there.” Balthazar said, talking aloud as he scanned the scaffolding holding up their roof. Jo had been right; there were a few holes in the planks and shingles above them. If the demons brought down the roof, they could get inside quick and easy. But the chapel sat directly on the iron tracks. The demons couldn’t pass the building.

Black smoke slammed up against Benny’s window again. It made the vampire jump, but Balthazar narrowed his eyes as he watched the darkness swirl against the dusty window pane.

“Something’s not right.” Balthazar muttered. “They should have broken through by now.” He added when Benny and Gordon both glared at him like he was completely mental.

Well, he couldn’t blame them, he was getting there.

“Are you complaining that they’re taking their time?” Gordon asked over his shoulder while he shook the bottle of spray paint in his hand.

“No. But generally speaking, the longer a demon keeps you waiting, the harder you get boned.” Balthazar answered, shaking his head stiffly as he looked from one window to the other. He kept his shotgun tucked into his shoulder while he watched the demons snapping around the church.

“Talkin’ from experience there buddy?” Benny asked, a dull chuckle on his voice.

“Sadly, yes.” Balthazar muttered as he paced slowly between the broken pews. “Even though we salted the doors and windows, these demons don’t have hosts.” Balthazar explained. He glanced up at the roof and blew out a breath. Damn it Jo. “Roof has holes. This whole damn building is practically a hundred years old. Do you think there aren’t a few loose boards in the walls for them to slip through? We’re missing something.” Balthazar reasoned, watching the windows again.

He could almost time it when the smoke would slam against the window again. They couldn’t get past the line of salt in the window sill, so why did they keep trying?

“They’re blocking our view.” Benny realized.

“From what?” Gordon scoffed.

Balthazar stared at the windows, glancing from one side of the room to the other before staring down at his feet. “The fucking tracks.” Balthazar growled. “Sam said they were going to break through the tracks.”

“Demons can’t pass iron.” Gordon defended.

“Right, of course not.” Balthazar answered with a small shrug. “And uh, tell me what happens when those iron tracks are blown to fucking scrap metal?” Stomping over to the bag, Balthazar filled his pockets with more ammo, grabbed a flask of holy water, and made sure that his anti-possession amulet was tucked tight under his shirt. It was not going to fall off this time.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Gordon asked as Balthazar turned towards the back door.

“Hold the fort boys,” Balthazar shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“Famous last words!” Gordon yelled back at him.

“You have no idea…” Balthazar grumbled under his breath as he pushed against the back door, stumbling when the hinges gave out on him. The wind snapped at his coat. Thunder rumbled over the church and the smell of rain was suddenly thick in the air. Balthazar kept himself pressed to the side of the building as he rounded the corner.

“Oh fuck.” Balthazar swore as his stomach dropped. On the side of the church was a cellar door that was locked and rusted. The tracks led right up to the cellar door, and resting on top of the iron bars was an unhealthy amount of C4. “Just when I think I’ll get away from the fire.” Balthazar muttered under his breath.

He stomped through the grass, kneeling gingerly in front of the six bricks of explosives, wrapped and wired together on the tracks with the timer placed in the center. The shotgun fell to his side while Balthazar traced the wires back to the device steadily counting down the two minutes until detonation.

“Bloody hell.” Balthazar whispered. This wasn’t good. Not good. How many wires? Where did they all connect? Maybe Balthazar could defuse it in enough time to save the church. But shit it had been years since he’d last seen a bomb. Let alone one this wired.

“Ah fuck. Benny! Gordon! Get the Hell out of there!” Balthazar shouted up to the window.

Balthazar traced his fingers over the timer. He was down to a minute and a half now. He shook his head. No, don’t focus on the time. Focus on the wires. Balthazar reached into his back pocket, snapping open his knife as his fingers continued to run over the wires connected to the detonator. One of these had to be the one connected to the fuse. He just had to find the right one and cut it.

And he had a full minute. Plenty of time.

“Shit.” Gordon’s voice trailed over his shoulder.

“Run you stupid bastard.” Balthazar shouted without taking his eyes off the wire. No, not that one.

“Do you know what you’re doing there chief?” Benny asked.

“Mostly.” Balthazar muttered. Maybe it could be this wire. It was tapped into the counter. But then what would set off the other side? Shit. He was down to forty seconds. “In case I don’t, you two need to run. Now!” Balthazar frowned. Maybe there were two wires, one for either side of the detonator. Fuck. Balthazar twirled his blade once before snapping the wire in his hand.

The timer froze for a millisecond before it resumed the steady countdown.

Thirty seconds.

Something sharp slammed into Balthazar’s shoulder. Heat spread down to his arm, sending a numb wave of pain along with it. Balthazar looked down to find blood oozing from a bullet hole in his shoulder. For a second, Balthazar was overcome but the daunting feeling of déjà vu. Someone had shot him? Again? He hadn’t heard the gun shot. He didn’t really feel the pain either. Except he’d lost all the feeling in his arm, and his knife was now in the dirt.

Gordon ran past him, shot gun firing off loud enough to drown out the ringing in Balthazar’s head. Benny was at his side, pressing a handkerchief to his shoulder, pressing hard against the bleeding wound.

“Which wire?” Benny growled, shaking Balthazar roughly.

The counter was down to eighteen seconds.

Seventeen.

Sixteen.

Fi-fifte--The red numbers swirled in Balthazar’s vision.

“Balthazar!” Benny shouted. His fingers dug into Balthazar’s shoulder.

The pain finally registered and Balthazar winced. He clutched his dead arm to his shoulder and tried to steady his spinning world. “Fuck.”

Twelve seconds left.

“I lost track— _fuck_.” Balthazar muttered.

“We’re gettin’ out of here.” Benny declared, lifting Balthazar up from the grass without a second thought. His hands were tight around Balthazar’s good arm, keeping Balthazar steady as the world dipped under his feet. For a few seconds, all Balthazar could see were the dark clouds overhead.

No stars tonight.

There was another gunshot. Benny froze. Balthazar dropped his head to see Gordon’s body collapsing into the grass.

The demon he’d fought was grinning with blood-red teeth, one hand pressed to a gushing red waist, the other wrapped around the handle of a revolver pointed straight at them. Her hand wasn’t trembling as she took aim and drew back the hammer.

Balthazar knew where she was aiming without looking down. When he heard the gunshot, he closed his eyes. The last thing he heard was the bang of the detonator exploding just five steps in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs you tightly*  
> ((if the first part seemed really familiar to you, it's because I snagged it from A Comet's Mark, just to give you guys a little pre-text to the last conversation Balthazar and Cas had together))
> 
> There's gonna be some happier stuff in the next chapter. But feel free to leave a comment for any other suggestions! These are for you guys since you're such awesome readers ^~^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean found out that his Uncle Bobby was hurt badly in a hunting accident way out of town and he can't be moved. So Dean packed up and heads south to take care of his Uncle. The last thing he expects is to find someone willing to take care of him.

Benny had to admit that sometimes, working the late night shifts at the bar down the street from the diner where he spent most of the days, was tiring. Sure, he knew the locals all pretty damn well, cooking up their lunches and breakfasts while the sun was up, and then watching them get completely trashed in the evenings. He’d seen more than his fair share of sad drunks, angry drunks, and the occasional horny drunks who just couldn’t help but flirt with whoever was pouring them alcohol throughout the night. Honestly, he didn’t take it personally. Benny knew how harsh life could get, and sometimes he could tell how someone’s day was gonna go in the morning, so that by the time his shift started at seven every night, he already had orders lined up waiting.

This must have been one of those days, because the man that came stumbling into the bar was definitely the same green-eyed lost soul that arrived at the diner earlier this afternoon ordering nothing but coffee for two hours. Benny had seen him through the serving window, and told the waitress handling his table to keep the coffee brewing. Honestly, Benny had no idea what was eating at the poor fellow, but the least they could do was give him enough caffeine to get him through his day.

The poor bastard practically fell into the bar stool in front of Benny, covering his face with his hands immediately before muttering to himself. Benny gave him a few seconds, drying off the last of his glasses before tossing the dishrag over his shoulder and tapping the bar.

“Rough day?” Benny asked, not at all surprised by the sudden jolt from the man. Poor bastard was so out of it Benny was almost afraid to serve him.

“Understatement.” The man muttered. “Gimmie a double of anything, so long as it’s dark and older than dirt.” He sighed, rubbing his face one last time before letting his hands drop down to the table. The circles under his green eyes were definitely darker than this morning.

“Sure thin’ chief.” Benny nodded, taking down a glass and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The man had a slight twang to his voice, that if Benny had to guess was probably somewhere in the Midwest. Whiskey was definitely a safe bet for the man, and judging by how fast he downed the shot once Benny put it in front of him, the man could definitely hold his own. Benny refilled the glass while keeping his eye on the man, actually looking at him now.

He had light brown hair that was fluffed in all sorts of angles that seemed to change every time the man ran his fingers through it in frustration. His face was pulled tight, but whether that was from the alcohol burning down his throat, or his daily worries, Benny had no idea. There was a slight catch of freckles over his nose, but that observation passed when the man glanced up at Benny from his glass with nothing but bright green eyes, slightly blood shot from lack of sleep.

“Now, I ain’t tryin’ a pick a fight here,” Benny murmured carefully as the man swirled the whiskey in his glass, letting it breathe now instead of inhaling it. “But yer sure yer fit to be drinkin’ tonight?”

The man gave him a rueful smirk as he raised the glass to his lips. One tiny sip, one small pull of his lips and the man sighed. “I’m not drunk yet if that’s what you mean. Just haven’t slept in the last twenty-four hours.”

Benny spared a quick glance around the bar to make sure none of his other patrons needed refills before he leaned against the bar. “I take it your new to town then.” Benny guessed. “If yer lookin’ for a place to crash, there’s a mighty fine B&B just ten minutes up the road.” Benny added with a slight nod of his head.

“For half a second there, I thought you were gonna offer me your place.” The man laughed as the words tumbled out of him mouth and partly into his glass, which he quickly drank from when he realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. The flush that crept up the man’s neck from under his green canvas jacket and red button down shirt was mostly definitely from his own thoughts rather than the alcohol in his system.

Benny let out a low whistle, smiling in spite of himself. “Man they did a number on you.” He commented, letting out the rest of his breath as he straightened his back. “I’d buy you dinner ‘fore I offered anything else. And get your name at least.”

Honestly, Benny didn’t mean much by it, but the man ducked his head slightly in shame. “Dean.” He said after a heartbeat of silence. “The name ‘s Dean, and I’m sorry man. Helluva a day.”

“I’m Benny. Trust me, there ain’t no hard feelings.” Benny chuckled as he held his out gently. Dean took it with a solid squeeze before dropping his fist back down on the counter. Benny tried not to let the buzz that traveled up his hand go to his head. He knew the stories and the rumors about marks and finding a match; how people talked about the very first time, like it’s some god damn fairy tale, love at first sight. Benny never really believed in that, and the buzz that crept up his arm was probably cause by Dean squeezing his hand so hard.

Not that Dean didn’t have his charms. Even as exhausted as the man was now in front of Benny, there was something about him that Benny wanted to understand, wanted to know even. But Benny knew better; the man was exhausted. Sure flirting around the bar and being friendly was how Benny usually worked through his shift, he could tell Dean needed a friend more than a bed mate for the night.

“How ‘bout something to eat?” Benny offered. “We ain’t got much of a menu here, but it’s decent.”

“Nah.” Dean said, shaking his head. “Just top me off and I’ll be outta your hair for the night.”

“So soon?” Benny tried to tease as he refilled the glass and passed it across the bar. “We’re only just getting’ to know each other.”

Dean smiled at that, not as sad this time, but it still pulled too tight in the wrong way. He rolled the glass between his fingers again as he watched the amber liquid swirl. “Yea. Can’t drink too much. Gotta get back to Saint Mary’s in the morning.”

Benny’s smile disappeared instantly. That was the name of the hospital about twenty minutes into the city, the only one with a fully equipped trauma center. When Dean looked up from his drink to see Benny still frowning, he merely nodded slowly.

“Yea. My uncle is in ICU. Hence the drink.” Dean muttered. “He was down here hunting with a buddy and things went sideways. They’re not so sure he’ll pull through.”

Hunting? In the middle of this town? Benny let that thought slide as he worried the dish towel between his hands. “Shit Chief, I hope he makes it alrigh’. No need to rush on that one. It’s a slow night.”

Dean relaxed almost instantly, the tension leaking out of his shoulders, letting his body rest forward comfortably against the tabletop. He placed a hand over his drink while he scratched at the back of his neck softly. “Yea. Thanks.” Dean muttered, his voice a bit strained.

Benny nodded sharply, rasping his knuckles on the wood. “Hollar if ya need another. I’ll drive ya up to the B&B later.” Benny couldn’t stop the words even if he tried. There was something about this guy that Benny couldn’t shake. Right now, all Benny wanted was to help the poor man out, even if it was as simple as pouring him drinks and driving him to the Inn later. He didn’t give Dean much of an option either as another customer called across the bar for a refill of beer and Benny was back to work.

 

 

 

\------

 

 

Dean woke with the taste of iron and alcohol thick like cotton in his mouth and the rasp of a scream on his lips. He was sitting up straight, covered in sweat that made his shirt stick to his chest as he heaved in breath after breath. He pressed a hand to his forehead as it pounded painfully against the sunlight that was barely kept at bay behind a thin ream of blue and green curtains. Dean winced as he took in his surroundings.

He was definitely in a hotel room somewhere. But it felt more homey than anything. The sheets on his bed were comfortable, patterned with dark roses and other flowers. The curtains were drawn back, like he’d forgotten to close them last night before he went to bed. There was a small TV on a table across from the bed, and to his right there was a sink and a door which Dean assumed led to the bathroom.

His bladder took this moment to remind him that even if he couldn’t remember how much he’d drank last night, he still needed to empty the tanks. Hurrying to the bathroom only made Dean’s hangover headache worse, but it was nothing Dean hadn’t faced in the past. He washed out the taste of cotton and iron from his mouth with a few swishes of the complimentary mouthwash since he couldn’t find his toiletries. Come to think of it…

Dean paced back into the small room he owned for the night. He couldn’t find his bag anywhere. He glanced back at the bathroom mirror only to find that he was wearing the same jeans and shirt from last night. Dean scratched his head, wondering for the fifth time, how he’d ended up in this room. The last thing he could remember was heading to the bar down the street from the dinner and talking with the bartender.

….who happened to look exactly like the cook at the diner.

Dean glanced down at his watch. It was only 10:30am. They would still be serving breakfast there now. Maybe Dean could find this guy and ask him to fill in some of the dark spots that clouded Dean’s memory. Then he could go and keep Bobby company for the rest of the day.

Dean threw his jacket over his arms, snatched the room key from the table and quickly left the room. It took him a few minutes to get used to the blazing pain of being out in broad daylight with a massive headache, and then another minute or so to get himself orientated in the city. It took him five whole minutes of staring down at his car, trying to figure out how the hell he’d gotten here so blazingly drunk. Dean patted his jacket pockets, utterly stunned to find his key chain deep inside his inner pocket where he usually never kept the keys.

Someone must have driven him here last night. The thought almost made Dean dizzy. He shook it off, jingling the keys as he walked around to the driver’s side, unlocking it, starting Baby up and taking off down the street. Dean was mildly surprised that the diner was so close to the inn, but then again, this was a small sort of town. He found a parking spot with ease, but a table at the diner was another matter entirely.

Apparently everyone in the town came to eat breakfast at 10:30am. There was only one seat open at the counter, and Dean nodded his thanks to the hostess who hurriedly pointed for him to sit down.

“Benny said you’d be stumblin’ in here half dazed and confused,” The girl behind the counter smiled at him as she chewed a piece of gum. Dean had only three seconds to wonder how the girl knew him before there was a plate of eggs over-easy on top of hash browns, biscuits and gravy on the side. He could barely get a question out of his mouth before the girl was pouring him a fresh cup of black coffee and passing him the sugar. “Eat up.”

Dean blinked a few times, wondering if maybe he was still dreaming as he watched steam roll off his plate and our of his mug. He glanced up just in time to catch a white-tooth smirk from the chef behind the counter window, who went right back to cooking like nothing was amiss. Dean chuckled. The chef was definitely the same man from the bar last night. Which means the man saw how completely trashed Dean had managed to get himself, and knew exactly what to do about it.

Dean found himself smiling as he sipped from his coffee once, just to take the edge off his headache before digging into his breakfast. When his waitress came back around to take his empty plate, Dean gave her a soft smile. “Pass my thanks to the Chef,” Dean said with a nod towards the window. “Benny was it?”

“Sure thing Cher,” The girl gave him a wink, like it was a secret between them both before taking Dean’s plate and passing him the bill.

Dean chewed his lip gently, leaving an extra nice tip and “For Benny” with his number on the back. He had to get to the hospital now that visiting hours had started, but he wouldn’t mind seeing the cook/bartender again. Especially if Dean would be staying in town for a while to take care of Bobby. Dean managed to catch the man’s eye as he stood from the table. Benny simply nodded while Dean gave him a smile and a wave before leaving the diner.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

Bobby wouldn’t wake from his coma for another two weeks. During that time, Dean stayed at the Bread and Breakfast that Benny had booked for him. He ate at the dinner every morning, and the bar every night, drinking less and less as he found Benny’s company a better balm to the stress than booze. On one of Benny’s rare days off, he found Dean at the hospital, and rather than tell him he should leave and get some rest, he simply arrived with lunch and stayed with Dean for the rest of the afternoon.

Benny was the first to know that Bobby was finally awake.

Benny was also the one who asked Dean to stay a little longer, to let Bobby get his strength back.

But it was Dean who kissed him first on the night that Bobby woke up and the stress finally drained from Dean’s shoulders. And it was Dean who asked Benny to come back to the B&B with him for the night. And then it was Dean who asked Benny to come back to Sioux Falls with him, filling him with stories of the Roadhouse, the Auto-part store and the Scrape Yard he worked at throughout the week.

It would take Benny two weeks, but he finally joined Dean up in South Dakota. Ellen hired him right away after hearing how well Benny could cook.

They spent almost a year together, trying to get Bobby back on his feet (literately, although the old man would have none of their help or any more doctors “pokin’ around” at his body) then running the scrape yard and auto part store together in Bobby’s stead.

And it was close to their one year anniversary when Dean stepped out of the garage to see Sheriff Mills, her hat clutched between her fingers and a drawn look on her face. He barely heard her words on condolences as the tow-truck backed into the yard with the remains of Benny’s blue pick-up-truck, burnt black on the frame, tire melted to the fender, motor completely trashed and glass missing from a gas-induced explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe all of you lovely readers a sincere apology. Things in my life went completely hay-wired and my writing has come to an utter halt. I have read all the comments you have left me, loving every single one (even if I didn't respond) and I'm completely blown away by how many kudos I'm still receiving even though this sage is still unfinished. To all my lovelies sticking with this story, I adore you all. I've put this as the last chapter for now, but I could possibly upload other timestampts if anything good comes up in the comments. For now, I really want to focus on the last segment so you won't be left hanging any longer. ^~^


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